Stepmothers – Reflections of the two Princesses
by Lady Eleanor Boleyn
Summary: What did Princesses Mary and Elizabeth think of each of their stepmothers? What if. after each of the deaths of King Henry's wives, someone had asked them? What would they have said?
1. Chapter 1

Stepmothers – Reflections of the two Princesses upon the remarriages of Henry VIII

Mary

Anne Boleyn -1536

She was a witch. An accursed sorceress who bewitched my father, and made him unable to be held accountable for his actions. Yes he denied the validity of his marriage to my mother, yes he stripped me of my title, my rightful title of Princess of Wales, yes he married her and had her crowned in a blaze of glory - all the glory he could afford, but he can be forgiven. He had run mad back then, run mad with unsatisfied lust, with driving passion.

**She**, on the other hand, had not, and as such, can never be forgiven. She knew what she was doing when she charmed him away from my mother's bed, away from my mother's side, and persuaded him to wed her. Wed her and bed her, as if they were truly man and wife, luring him with promises of his longed-for son. Anne Boleyn was playing for the throne all along, even when my father didn't realise it, and look what it brought her. Nothing but her just desserts. She failed to deliver on her promise; she failed to give my father a son, and now she is dead, her captivating dark head struck from her body, her body rotting beneath the floor of Saint Peter ad Vincula chapel, and her daughter, her clever beautiful little daughter, my bastard sister, finally recognised for what she really is – a child born out of wedlock.

My father, meanwhile, is courting his latest sweetheart, mistress Jane Seymour, formerly one of Anne's ladies. There are rumours that Anne died to make room for her in my father's bed, that she will become the next Queen. I hope there is truth in them, for England still needs an heir, and she seems the perfect woman to give us one.

Jane Seymour - 1537

She will be missed. Sorely missed. She is dead, dead of that accursed disease, the childbed fever. She, the sweetest and luckiest of my father's wives, never lived to reap the rewards of giving my father his heart's desire – a strong and lusty son and heir. My father has declared Court mourning, even here at Hampton Court Palace, where my infant brother, the Prince of Wales, Edward Tudor, suckles strongly and thrives more with every passing day. My father has had Jane interred in St George's chapel at Windsor Castle. He gave her a state funeral fit for a Queen, but he himself did not attend. He wished to be alone with his grief.

I attended though. In fact, I was Chief mourner, for I too will miss her. Jane was a good friend to me during her brief marriage to my father. It was she who had me welcomed back to Court and given a household of my own, as befits a King's daughter. She encouraged my father to return to the Catholic faith in deed as well as in word, and she had me named Godmother to my brother, Prince Edward. Through her, I was finally given something I that I longed for so much – my father's paternal affection. For years, while my father danced to Anne Boleyn's scandalous tune, I was starved of it, denied even the sight of my father, and was never even supposed to write to my mother, the true Queen of England. Jane changed all that. It was too late to help my mother, but she could, and did, encourage my father to reconcile himself with me, once I had signed the Oath of Succession. For that, I will be eternally loyal to her memory.

Anne of Cleves - 1540

Father married her because of the political advantages, I know that, and she never managed to improve my situation the way Queen Jane did before she died, but then, she was only Queen for six short months. I admire her, admire her for dealing with this shameful affair so well, and for keeping her head, unlike the first Anne.

She is more a Queen than that silly young minx who has captured my father's heart will ever be. To me, she will forever be a friend, and if, God forbid, Edward should die without heirs, and my father finds it impossible to father a second son, there is every chance that I myself will ascend the Throne of England. If I do, Anne, who is now known as "The King's sister" will be one of the first ladies I invite to stay with me at Court. This I vow, as God is my witness.

Katherine Howard - 1542

She is dead now and I am glad of it. I would never tell my father, but I am glad nonetheless. She was far too young, too silly to ever make a good Queen. In her defence, she was Catholic like me, and pushed into this marriage before she could truly think for herself, and I suppose she was kind enough, but nevertheless, I strongly disliked her. My last Christmas at Court was a nightmare. Little Kitty reigned supreme in my father's heart then, and I was forced to bend the knee to her, and to call her "Mother". Mother! As if that vain, merry, soft-hearted girl could ever have been a mother to me! She must have been five years younger than me, at the very least, and ten or twenty when it came to what she'd experienced in the facts of life.

I did it though. I had to, if I wanted to stay in her good graces, and as such, remain favoured by my father. I did it, successfully masking my contempt for her by my outward show of loyalty, but all the while, I felt painfully embarrassed on my father's behalf.

People say that my sister Elizabeth, Anne Boleyn's daughter, and as such, Kitty's cousin, has been truly shocked by the Queen's beheading. They say that she had to be given a sleeping draught to calm her, and that she has sworn that she will never marry, but I do not believe such claims. Elizabeth is a King's daughter, bastard or no bastard, and as such, she is bound to wed. She may well have been upset by the execution, however, for Kitty was kind to her, and she seemed to take pleasure in her company. I do not have such feelings. I suppressed my abhorrence of my father's fifth wedding because it would be prudent to do so, but now it has met its inevitable end, and I am relieved. Please God that if my father remarries yet again, he makes a more practical choice when it comes to his next bride.

Katherine Parr – 1548

Lady Katherine Parr is dead. Dead in childbirth – the child being her first natural descendant, for she alone of my father's wives remarried after his death. I miss her now, for she was always good to me. She was not a maternal figure to me – not the way she was to my siblings, for I was too old to need one, but she carried on restoring me to my father's favour the way Queen Jane had done, and she never held my belief in the one true faith against me, Lutheran though she was. She healed my father's broken family as best she could, and she was a keen scholar too, publishing at least two religious works of her own whilst she was married to my father. I prayed for her when my father died, when she married Sir Thomas Seymour and when she became pregnant with his child.

All in vain. She is dead, and nothing can ever bring her back. However, I will never forget her, nor what she did for me, for it was through her influence that both Elizabeth and I were officially restored to my father's line of succession. Her child survives – a daughter named Mary like myself. I shall take an interest in the child as she grows. Perhaps I can repay part of the debt I owe Katherine Parr by caring for her orphaned child the way she cared for me and my younger siblings. We shall see. I shall certainly try.

**AN All right, all right. I know I should be updating my WIP, but I couldn't resist this! Read and Review - next up - Princess Elizabeth**


	2. Chapter 2

Stepmothers – Reflections of the two Princesses upon the remarriages of Henry VIII

Elizabeth 

1548

My stepmother the Lady Katherine Parr is dead. She died in childbirth not two weeks ago, and her funeral was this morning. I, who should have been, could have been Chief Mourner, in fact would have been, had I not dallied with her husband in a manner most unbecoming to a young lady of fourteen years, did not attend. Jane Grey took my place as Chief mourner, and I locked myself away in my rooms, my cheeks burning with embarrassment. Even in my innermost private chamber, however, I heard the bells tolling – once for every year of her life. The sound, oh, so familiar, brought the memories crashing over me once more, for she was not the first of my father's wives to die. As I heard the knells, I lay on my bed, closed my eyes, and tried to bring back the faces of each of my stepmothers.

Jane Seymour 

Jane Seymour was the first of my stepmothers after my mother died, executed on charges of witchcraft, incest, and adultery against my father the King, the one who gave England what she most needed – a strong son and heir. Yet I scarcely remember her face. She was blonde, I know that, and seemed meek enough to satisfy my father's longing for a quiet life after his tempestuous marriage to my mother, but nothing else comes back to me, though I do remember being told of her marriage to my father, because I had asked my governess's husband "How could I be addressed as my Lady Princess yesterday, sir, and today be nothing but my Lady Elizabeth?"

I also remember Jane inviting me to stay at Court with her and my elder sister Mary whilst she was pregnant with my brother Edward, though she did not try to heal my father's relationship with me in the same way she tried to heal his relationship with Mary – (something I have always suffered for, I think), but even that is nothing but a vague series of blurry pictures in my mind's eye, for I was barely four when she died of childbed fever. She remained forever enthroned in my father's heart as his favourite wife, but I cannot truly say that I ever did, or indeed, ever shall, share his view of her.

Anne of Cleves

Next came Anne of Cleves. She resides in my childhood memories as a fat, dowdy woman who never seemed to fit in at my father's glittering court, however hard she tried. That is not to say that I do not think kindly of her, for I do, but I do not think of her as a wife and Queen - rather as a placid aunt, who tried her hardest to influence me and my brother, but pales beside the steadying presence of the Lady Katherine Parr, or even that of her immediate successor, Katherine "Kitty" Howard, who demands centre stage in my thoughts the moment I think upon her name. I doubt my father could ever have been happy with Anne, even if she had given him a son, for she did not have the brilliant mind of my mother or Katherine Parr, the fiery spirit of Mary's mother, the sweet gentle submission of Jane Seymour or even the exuberant youth that Kitty Howard exuded. She was, or indeed still is, a person of her own making. I never admired her the way I admired my last stepmother – indeed, I admit to thinking rather disdainfully upon her at one point, when I watched her with the foreign ambassadors during her few months as Queen, but she has a charm of her own, now that she has been freed from the jesses of her marriage to my Father, and in some ways I wish I could shake off the vivid first impression that I still have of her, but I fear it is impossible. Perhaps I would do better to instead think upon my mother's cousin.

Katherine Howard 

Katherine Howard was the perfect mother to me when I was seven years old. She loved me more than my sister Mary, who I was always trying to better in those days, for we were cousins through the blood of my mother, and they were not, she played with me whenever I asked her, she was pretty and she was sweet. Of course, now that I am older, I realise that she was too young and silly to ever make a good Queen Consort to my father, but at the time, I adored her. When my father had her executed, on the same charges that killed my mother, I was devastated! I screamed and wept for hours, and I had to be given a sleeping draught to calm me before the awful event actually happened. I awoke hours later, after the deed had been performed, and I instantly vowed never to marry, which is a vow I still intend to keep, having seen how relieved Katherine Parr was when my father died.

However, although Kitty was kind and flirtatious, she could never have given me the love and reassurance that Katherine Parr did – she needed too much of it herself. I will never forget her though, because I believe that, had my father not married her, I might well have languished at Hatfield forever, a forgotten Princess.

As it is, Katherine Parr had the opportunity to care for both Edward and myself, and I am grateful to both Katherines for that.

Katherine Parr

Katherine Parr was the last of my father's wives, and she loved me as though I were her own daughter. I loved her too, loved her as a daughter loves a mother. When I think of all the pain I caused her recently, my cheeks flame with embarrassment. She had me brought back into my father's lasting favour, restored to the succession, restored to my place in the family. She oversaw my education herself, engaging the best tutors in England to instruct me, including the distinguished Roger Ascham, and upon my father's death, she took me into her own household, to be raised alongside her fourth husband's ward, the Lady Jane Grey. And how did I repay her?

By flirting unashamedly with her handsome husband, the Lord Admiral and Baron of Sudeley Castle, Sir Thomas Seymour, whilst Katherine was heavy with child – his child.

Sir Thomas was a dashing man, full of charm, and he knew exactly how to flatter a teenage girl like myself. Before long, he took to coming into my bedchamber early in the morning and waking me by tickling me fiercely. Needless to say, I was most improperly dressed, and he was scarcely any better, for he was only in his nightshirt and cap.

All of this put Katherine under great strain, and eventually she could bear it no longer. She sent me away, back to my own home at Hatfield Palace. However, although I had hurt her deeply, Katherine showed tact and kindness in dealing with the matter. Rather than let the scandal leak out any more than it already had, she gave out that I was only leaving the Seymour household because she herself was ill, and in no fit state to take care of me, a falsehood which fooled nobody, but for which I shall forever be grateful.

Nor did she cut herself off from me completely, but rather, exchanged affectionate letters with me at regular intervals, despite what I had done to her. I shall miss her now that she is dead.

As I lie here, on my great four-poster bed, and bring back her gentle long-suffering face, tears fill my eyes, and I make a vow to myself. Never mind what has happened in the past. Never mind. Katherine brought me up to be a true Tudor, a Tudor with a sharp mind, and an unfailing sense of justice and courage. I shall live as a true Tudor from this day on. I shall live as Katherine taught me, and I shall try to live in honour of her memory. I shall live in a way that would make her proud of me.


End file.
